Simmer
by PeaceHeather
Summary: If you set a pot to simmer and leave it, eventually it will either run dry... or boil over. Set just post 2x22, but slightly AU as I started it before we learned Neal wasn't actually going to be joining Emma and Co. on the Jolly Roger. Rated for language.


"It's fine."

"I'm fine."

"No, thanks."

"No, I'm good."

For the past three days aboard ship, Emma had barely spoken. From the looks on their faces, everyone was convinced that she was so quiet because she was stressed out over Henry, worried for him, worried about their chances of finding him again, fearful for his safety in the hands of the two sons of bitches that had taken him.

Only one of those was true.

Emma had dealt with her fair share of criminals, back in her bail-bond days, and while psychological profiling or detective work were never really part of her job description, she'd still managed to pick up a few things. One was that kidnappers needed their hostages safe, in order to get what they wanted. It was only when Emma and the rest of Henry's extended family got close that he'd be in any real danger from them.

So, yes, she was worried for him – hoping he trusted that they would come for him, praying he wasn't too scared, praying that Neverland and its dangers couldn't do what his abductors wouldn't – but all the rest of it?

No. Not even a little bit.

It wasn't motherly concern that was keeping her shoulders tight, her eyes hard (and avoiding too much contact with anyone else's), and her mouth shut. It wasn't fear that was keeping her awake at night.

Hook had caught Emma more than once, pacing the deck or standing at the rails while everyone else was below, eating or sleeping or planning or fretting, but he'd so far been gracious enough not to say anything. In fact he'd mostly kept out of her way, which would have made her suspicious if she'd taken the time to think about it.

But she hadn't, not right then. She was too busy keeping a lid on what she was really feeling.

Should've known _that_ wouldn't last.

* * *

It was a little after lunch on that third day that her mother cornered her.

"Emma, honey," said Snow, "are you…?"

"I'm fine," she replied. The words fell clipped and sharp-edged from her mouth; she'd been honing them for days, after all.

"No, you're not," she said, full of motherly sympathy. "This is tearing you up, I can see it."

"You'd be surprised," said Emma. She left the rail and headed belowdecks, feeling Hook's eyes on her from his station at the helm.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when her father decided to take his turn.

"Hey," said David. Little tap of his knuckles against the top bunk, interrupting Emma as she tried to get things cleaned up in her corner of the officers' cabin. Hook was gracious enough to allow them all into his home, the least they could do was not be slobs about it.

"Hey," she said, without looking up.

"You want to talk about it?"

Straight to the point, that was David.

"No," said Emma. Then, "Thanks." He was at least making the effort to find out, rather than just assume he knew what was going through her head.

She didn't get very seasick, only felt nauseous when she was down below. The faster she could get this done, the faster she could get back outside and feel the breeze on her face…

"Emma. Come on," said David.

"I'm fine," she said.

She could hear him sigh behind her, frustrated. "Do you really expect us to believe that?" he asked, and Emma's jaw tightened up to where she could hear her teeth grinding.

"Yep," she said. Tucked the last of her things back inside her duffel where they belonged, turned to face him finally. "Excuse me."

She stepped politely around him toward the ladder, her face showing no expression whatsoever.

* * *

It was dinner time, and Emma could feel it in the air the instant before she came into the galley – the principal's office, the social worker, the probation officer, they all felt the same and Emma was very, very familiar.

Her family had decided it was time for an intervention.

Too bad for them that Emma was not only extremely familiar with the setting, she knew exactly how to handle it – and going on the defensive was not it. She wasn't an unwanted foster kid anymore, nor an inmate, nor an ex-con, and there wasn't a damn thing about her recent behavior that she needed to justify to anyone in that little room.

She sure as hell wasn't about to give them what they wanted from her.

So she took a deep breath, settled her shoulders and her face, and stepped inside. Sure enough, there were Snow and David and Neal (fucking _Neal_) all gathered around the galley table. Regina was there too, sitting at one end, but she was a little apart from the rest of them and looked a little less predatory than usual. Whether that was because she was still recovering from what those bastards did to her, or because she was simply relieved that it wasn't her being called onto the carpet, Emma didn't know or care to guess.

As for Gold – Rumpelstiltskin – well, he spent all his time either avoiding Hook or avoiding his son; for all Emma knew he could be building a little fort out of blankets and empty crates, down in the cargo hold.

She didn't even bother glancing at them as they all looked up from their whispered conversation (and ugh, thought Emma, _really_? What, were they back in the eighth grade now?), just dodged around the table to the sideboard. Split open a roll and started piling dried beef on top. She'd skip the soup, even though it smelled great – Emma planned to eat topside again, and didn't want to take anything with her that would spill if she set it down for a second.

"Emma," said Snow.

"Could you pass the mustard?" she replied. She heard David sigh again like he always did, the breath whooshing out of him like it was all he could do not to say something, but no one else answered her. So she turned around and picked up the little jar from its niche on the table, turned back and started dressing her sandwich.

"Emma," said Snow again, more forcefully.

Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes, and turned once more, mustard jar in hand. Then she waited, face perfectly calm, except maybe for a little tightness at the back of her neck that she couldn't quite seem to get rid of.

"Emma, sweetie," she said. "Please – you need to talk to us." She was holding her hands out and there was nothing on her face but love and care, every inch of her just screaming _let mommy make it better_. "You're tearing yourself apart, honey, it has to stop."

"No, I'm not," said Emma. "And no, I don't." She set the jar back on the table, perhaps a little harder than she'd meant, but whatever. Tucked an orange into her coat pocket and wrapped her sandwich in a napkin. If there was one thing she really, _really _didn't need to do, it was talk to Mary Margaret and Neal.

Only it looked like she wasn't going to get away that easily. _Well, damn_, Emma thought. Not that she'd really expected to, granted, but it had been worth a shot. Instead, Neal stood up from the table, and Emma actually saw him give her mother a look, a _let me handle this_ patronizing little quirk to his eyebrows and tilt to his head, and just like that, Emma couldn't _wait_ to answer every damn question they had.

But she still didn't want to just give them whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it.

If she could just make it to the deck, maybe she'd still be able to get him to leave her the hell alone. Neal didn't like to look bad in front of Hook, for reasons he wouldn't go into and Emma didn't care about anyway.

But no.

Because her asshole ex-boyfriend – who knew, he _knew_ how much she hated being boxed in, she always had, even before prison she'd hated it and he _knew_ that – came around the corner of the table and got between her and the door.

"Ems, c'mon," he said, just the picture of reasonable and rational and _let me handle this_. "Just – stick around for a second, will ya? Just to talk."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Get out of my way, Neal," she said, still managing to keep her voice level.

"It's just – we gotta plan, you know?" he tried. "Figure out what to do."

And oh look, her lie detector still worked, because that was a _pile_ of bullshit if ever she'd heard one.

"You're between me and the door, Neal," she said, very very softly. "I suggest you take yourself out of my way."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Regina sit a little straighter, saw Mary Margaret's face as Emma's posture and tone sank in and she finally _got_ it.

No, Emma wasn't hanging on by a thread, barely holding herself together and devastated with worry for her child.

Emma was barely holding herself _back_, because Emma was absolutely fucking _furious_.

Her mother might have figured it out, but not Neal. He ducked his head to give her the puppy-eyes the way he always used to do. "C'mon," he said, "don't be like this…" He tried a smile, reached for her shoulder to give it an affectionate, reassuring squeeze. "Just talk for a minute, and then I'll let you go. C'mon – huh? C'mon."

_Let_ her go?

"Get out of my way, Neal," she said, teeth gritted, "and don't _touch_ me." Emma shook his hand off and ducked under his arm, heading to the hatch that led up and out. She'd managed three days of keeping her face as perfectly neutral as she could, but right then the effort almost hurt as she fought the insane urge to snarl and _bite _him as she passed.

"Em, you're gonna have to let it out sooner or later," he called after her. "You're gonna have to talk to us!"

She said nothing, only stomped harder up the ladder and out onto the main deck. The galley was at the front of the ship, and looking back she could just make out Hook, standing at the helm as always, though he was hard to spot between all the masts and sails and ropes and… stuff between here and there. Since Neal didn't like to look bad in front of Hook, hopefully just being topside would be enough to make him back down. And if not, well, at least he couldn't box her in out here.

She could hear him, thumping up the ladder behind her and calling her name. Looked like this time maybe having Hook's eyes on him wouldn't be enough, after all. Emma stuck her sandwich in her other pocket and shook out her hands, rolling her neck as Neal clambered up onto the deck.

Emma was on ground of her choosing, and if she couldn't avoid this whole fiasco any longer, at least now it would play out on her terms instead of theirs.

"Ems!" he said, skipping up into her personal space like he had a right to be there. "Come on, Ems, be real. We've all seen the way you've been acting, these past coupla days. We all know what you're going through –"

"No, actually you have no _idea_ what I'm–"

"– and I'm telling you, you need to talk it out with us."

"Like hell I do!" Emma rounded on him, the wind whipping her hair back. "You don't know me, you don't know the first thing about me, you unbelievable little shit, so don't you _dare_ stand there and tell me what _you think_ I need! You _don't_ know what I'm going through –"

"Henry's my son too, so yeah, I think I do! What the hell, Emma, you think you're the only one who's allowed to worry about him?"

She grit her teeth and managed through sheer effort of will not to scream at him. "I am _not worried _about my son," she bit out.

"Uh, yeah, you are," said Neal, throwing his arms out to his sides. "Jesus, do you seriously think you're fooling anybody here? Because you're not. I mean, God," he threw in a little incredulous laugh, "– what _is_ this, anyway? Denial?"

Emma went still, her eyes wide. She took a deep breath in through her nose, then another; they didn't help.

"Did you _really_ just say that to me, Neal?" she said, her hands clenching into fists. "Did _you_ of all people really just use the word 'denial', and apply it to _me_?"

"Well what else would you call it?" he said. "You're not saying anything, you're avoiding us… but it's obvious, you know? You're worried about how we're gonna find him in Neverland." Neal stepped in and reached for her again, said, "But we will, Em. We're gonna track those guys down and we're gonna find Henry." He grabbed both her shoulders and gave her this _patronizing_ little shake, this _don't-you-fret-your-pretty-little-head _look on his face…

…and oh, that was _it_.

Emma trapped his wrists and stepped one leg around behind him. "_I said don't touch me_," she snarled, and with a twist of her hips she sent him crashing onto the deck. He landed hard; Emma actually felt the floorboards quiver under her feet and a muffled cry from below, in the galley.

That probably shouldn't have felt as good as it did, but it really, _really _did.

"Jesus Christ, Emma!" Neal groaned and sat up painfully, but Emma yanked him upright by his collar and shoved him toward the foremast. Had his face smushed up against the wood before he could recover his balance, and his arms in a lock before he could so much as blink. "What the hell?"

"Shut up," she spat. "You wanted me to talk it out, then you're gonna shut the hell up and listen for once in your life, you got that? Do you?" She tightened her grip and he yelped.

"Ow! Okay, okay!" Neal went limp, probably hoping she would ease her grip, but Emma had dealt with plenty of losers like him in the past few years and knew better than to fall for his tricks. "What the hell is the matter with –"

"We moved around a lot, you and I," she said, and he twisted his head around to look at her, bewildered. "Before you sent me to prison. And then I moved around a lot on my own, after I got out. Except for Tallahassee. I spent _two years_ in fucking Tallahassee, Florida, with the idiot frat boys and the humidity and the seriously _ugly_ ducks, thinking that maybe, just maybe, you'd have the decency to be waiting for me there, to _come back_ for me. But you didn't. And that," she said with a little jerk on his arms, "was the third time you broke my heart."

The noise had apparently startled everyone in the galley, because she could hear them all now, up on deck and gathered behind her, no doubt wondering whether Emma had finally gone off the deep end.

"The first time you broke my heart was when you sent me to jail in the first place, and I could go on about that for hours, you _worthless _bastard," she said. "But the second time – the second time was the worst. The second time you broke my heart was when I had to give birth to Henry, in prison, and with _no choice_ but to put him up for adoption because of it. Because of _you_." She leaned into her hold on him and bared her teeth when he groaned. "So you don't get to stand there and tell me you know how I feel, because you don't. You don't know the first thing about me because you were never around to find out who I could become, after I stopped being the naïve, _stupid_ girl who fell in love with you. You don't get to _make _me talk to you or _let _me go when you're finished with me, and you sure as hell don't get to look at my mother and try to convince her that you can _handle me_, because you can't. I _guarantee_ you can't."

Emma shoved herself away from him and stepped back as he stumbled, turning to face her parents and Regina; the three of them were looking at her with varying degrees of shock, concern, and in Regina's case, admiration. Which made sense, actually, since she and Regina had tangled more than once, and the mayor had a pretty good idea of what Emma was really capable of.

Behind her she could feel Hook watching them. Watching her. Oddly enough, it felt less like she had a dangerous wild card lurking behind her, and more like… a dangerous wild card, standing at her back.

Maybe later she could analyze that; for now, she could live with it.

"I haven't really told anybody here much about my background," said Emma with a shake of her head. "One of the things you don't know about me is that after Tallahassee, I got into bail bonds." Glanced over her shoulder where Neal was just picking himself up off the deck, wincing. "And no, I wasn't the receptionist behind the counter."

"Wait. You – you're telling me you were –"

"A bounty hunter? Yeah. The guys who jump bail, skip town – the guys who ditch their obligations and their loved ones and run, to try and cover their own asses?" _Guys like you?_ she almost added. Settled for resting her hands on her hips and letting the look on her face say it for her. "I _hunt down_ guys like that for a living. That's what I was doing the night Henry found me, right before I came to Storybrooke. And just so you know – I happen to be very, very good at my job."

"Uh. Wow," said David softly, shifting his weight, crossing his arms, and passing a hand across his face. Emma just nodded.

"Yeah. Wow," she said. "So no. I am not worried about Greg and Tamara," she went on, turning to look them all in the eye one by one, "and I am not in fucking _denial_." Emma snarled the last word over her shoulder at Neal. "If it turns out that they know Neverland better than we do, then we may have a problem, but otherwise we're on equal ground. Better, actually, because we have Hook. I _will_ hunt them down, I _will _find them, and _when_ I find them, they _will_ pay for taking Henry away from me. From us," she added, with a glance at Regina. "I'm not worried about them. And I'm not worried about Henry, not yet. Not until we get closer and start putting pressure on them. I can handle that. What I _can't_ handle," she said, voice dropping as she fought to control her anger, "is that we wouldn't even be here, we wouldn't even _need_ to be searching for Henry right now, if any of you had bothered to listen to me when I tried to warn you in the first place."

Snow's face crumpled, predictably. "Emma, I'm so sorry…"

Emma shut her eyes, and waved Snow off.

"Mary Margaret – you know what, look. 'Sorry' just doesn't cut it right now, okay?" she said. "I know that's not what you want to hear. But it is the truth. Just like you didn't want to hear what I was trying to tell you about Tamara. You and Neal both. It was easier, it was – it was more comfortable, maybe, for you to blow me off and assume I was being the emotional ex-girlfriend, or something. Am I right? I know Gold has some idea in his head that I still have _feelings_ for you," she said, turning to Neal. "He's said stuff to me, and I'm sure he's said stuff to you. But – God – after everything you've done to me, after all the years where you were just _gone,_ did you really, honestly think I could still feel _anything_ for you?"

"Look, Emma," Neal started. "I just –"

"Don't," she said. "I don't care what you just. I care that I'm the freaking Sheriff of Storybrooke, I had a murder to investigate, Tamara was a legitimate suspect, and I wasted my time trying to defend myself to you, defend my fucking _motivation_, instead of telling you to get the hell out of my way and let me do my job. You know, maybe if I'd done that, I would've found them sooner and Regina wouldn't have almost _died_ on a goddamn _torture table_."

"No, honey, you can't know that –"

"Well, I can't know it _now_, can I?" she said. "Because it's too late for what-ifs and if-onlys. Regina _did_ get tortured, you _didn't_ listen to me, and Henry _is_ gone, and there's nothing we can do to go back and erase that. Not a damn thing. If there's one thing I know, down in my bones, it's that life doesn't hand you do-overs." Emma stopped to catch her breath, refusing, absolutely refusing to let her voice shake or her eyes water.

"I believed in you, Mary Margaret," she said after a moment. "I believed in you when you were framed for murder; I had your back despite everything, and you've had my back in situations that were a lot more serious, that were life-or-death. But this situation… this time around, all I needed you to do was listen, and maybe give me the benefit of the doubt… and for some reason you couldn't? That was just too much to ask of you?"

Emma should've probably felt bad, but dammit, she'd been holding back for days now, and her family had pushed her to talk whether she wanted to or not. They wanted her to vent and share her emotions? Well, she was sharing now, by God, and whether _they_ wanted it or not, she was going to vent until they choked on it.

Snow looked down, crushed, as David moved to her side. Of course he did.

"And this!" she cried, flinging her hands out at the two of them. "I mean, what the hell? I'm trying to figure out if you couldn't just hear me out because you were too wrapped up in your own issues, or if you wanted the problem to be easy to solve, or what. Maybe if I was just the jilted girl it would be something Mommy could fix, right? But I was serious, and I was telling you the truth, and I was _right_ and you couldn't hear it because you were too busy being crushed with, with – regret and remorse and whatever the hell else! Good to know your guilt over doing _one bad thing_ in your entire life, oh and saving the town in the process, was enough to just completely shut off your ability to care about anyone else around you, Mary Margaret. Thanks for that. I'll make sure to keep that in mind for next time."

"Emma," said David forcefully, but she ignored him.

"The both of you," Emma said, and her throat was getting tight and she _would not_ let them hear it, "you and Neal. Both of you decided it was just easier to blow me off and assume I was letting my emotions get in the way and cloud my judgment. Do you have any idea how patronizing that is? My God, Neal, you've been a condescending asshole since the _minute_ I found you in Manhattan – why not just ask me if it's that time of the month while you're at it? I mean, hell, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that _you_ ignored me, you've blown off absolutely everything else I've had to say and ignored everything else I told you I needed or wanted. To find out you never once believed me when I told you I could tell when people lie to me? Did you ever believe in me at all? Or did you just like having a naïve girl to take care of and make you feel all special?"

She could see the Adam's apple jump as Neal swallowed and looked away, blinking hard. Emma looked back and forth between him and Snow, shaking her head in disbelief.

"And you're supposed to be my family," she said finally. "You know, Regina hated my guts all of last year, and she had more respect for me than that. None of you will trust Hook any farther than you can throw him, but he still has more respect for me than that. Hell, Gold is the friggin' all-powerful _Dark One,_ and even _he_ has more respect for me than that."

She stopped to catch her breath again, but no one jumped in this time to deny her words. David looked unhappy, holding Snow, who looked heartbroken and wouldn't take her eyes off the deck. Neal had his hands in his coat pockets and shrugged uncomfortably when she looked over at him, and flicked his gaze out over the water. And Regina looked… sad, and tired, and pensive. Maybe even understanding, though Emma couldn't read her quite that well. The queen drew her coat tighter around her at a sudden gust of wind, and shifted her weight, the waves making them all sway where they stood.

Emma opened her mouth to say more, but stopped. What else was there to say? What point would there be in her laying into them all some more, whether they deserved it or not? She'd held onto the anger long enough, and now that she'd let it out, she found herself simply tired of the whole thing.

"You wanted to know what was on my mind," she said, more quietly now. "Well, now you do. Hope you're happy. 'Cause I'm just…" she sighed. "I'm just done."

And with that, Emma shut her mouth, shoved her hands into her pockets, and shuffled around her parents to head back to the galley.

On the bright side, it looked like she'd be able to get some of that soup, after all.

* * *

**This chapter stands alone pretty well; I may continue it at some point with further conversations one-on-one between Emma, Neal, Snow, and Hook, but I wanted to at least get this out there for people to comment on. I wrote it partly in response to all the "Emma breaks down and sobs" fics I've been reading - which are good, don't get me wrong, but I've been reading a lot lately and seeing more than five of those in one day means it's time for something new. :) And of course, I started it before learning that Neal wouldn't be joining them on their little cruise, so it's kinda AU - but it was also writing therapy and felt really good for me, to let Emma vent like that.**

**Yay, writing therapy!**

**Thanks for reading.**


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